


Mixed Up

by rubycue



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Complete, F/F, Fem!Sherlock, Femlock, First Kiss, Flirting, Getting Together, alcohol mention, fem!john watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5729896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycue/pseuds/rubycue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan Watson can get a date with pretty much anyone, but the one time she actually makes a bet of it with Lestrade and Anderson, the girl in question isn't quite as receptive to her advances as Joan is used to. Pity that this also happens to be the one time Joan really really wants to date someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to thenameiscieltheaddressishell for reading this when it wasn't finished yet and being their enthusiastic, supportive self. Also, thank you to feverfewm, who beta'd this even though it's not normally her cup of tea and then being really nice and supportive as well. :-) 
> 
> And yes! I learned from my mistakes and actually finished this fic before I started posting it. The chapters aren't particularly long - the fic is 9.3k, so you can do the math. But! They'll be posted within the next two weeks. \o/
> 
> Last but not least, feel free to message me on tumblr (@rubycue) or twitter (@rubyscue), whether you want to talk about femlock or just about anything else.

“Shit, why would she…” Although Philip stopped himself mid-sentence, his cursing was loud enough to be heard from halfway across the lawn. A few moments later, he plopped down gracelessly on the grass next to Greg and Joan.

“What happened to you, mate? Sally turn you down?” Greg asked, a wide grin on his face.

Philip’s eyes narrowed and he looked away. “So what if she did,” he grumbled.

Greg shrugged innocently. “It’s not like you’ve been mooning over her for months…”

At that point, Joan had to interrupt the exchange. “Would one of you mind telling me what’s going on? Who’s Sally?”

“She’s in one of our seminars,” Greg explained. “Philip here has had a crush on her for ages and today he apparently finally managed to ask her out.”

“And a fat lot of good that did me,” Philip said bitterly. “I just met her in the café by coincidence, so I took my chances and asked her out. I even offered to pay for her coffee! But no, not good enough for her, it seems. She’s probably still sitting there now, glad that the idiot who thought he stood a chance with her left.”

Joan patted him on the shoulder in an effort to be consoling, though she doubted it’d work.

“Let’s be real though,” Greg said. “Philip doesn’t have enough practice. Joan though… Joan would have managed to get a date with her. I mean, who’s ever turned you down?”

“It’s happened a few times,” Joan said, lips quirking. “Want me to give it a try? I could go over there right now and ask for a date.”

Philip’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

Joan laughed. “If you want, I could spend the whole date just talking about how great you are. Would that be alright?”

Philip scoffed. “Just wonderful.”

“Okay, so what does this Sally look like?” Joan asked, and Philip’s eyes widened.

“You’re not really going to do that?” he asked incredulously.

“Oh come on, she’s already turned you down, how much worse can it get?” Greg said, winking at Joan, who rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I actually think she’s in one of your lectures as well,” Greg added in her direction. “That Anatomy thing you’ve got on Mondays?”

Joan raised an eyebrow. “There are only 200 people in that lecture, but alright, go ahead and describe her.”

Philip sighed woefully. “Dark. Curly hair. Perfect skin. Cute nose. Smallish breasts, but they’re perfect nevertheless…” He sighed again.

Greg snorted. “Tell her what she was wearing. Might be more helpful.”

“Um.” Philip blinked. “I don’t remember the details. Some black jacket or trench coat or something, I think.”

“Very helpful,” Greg said with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a small café, I’ll find her,” Joan said with a relaxed shrug.

“And what if you don’t find her attractive?” Philip asked in a last-ditch attempt to stop her from going.

Joan laughed as she got up and patted her butt and legs to get the grass and dirt off. “Then I’ll come straight back here, don’t worry.”

 

*~*~*

 

Joan entered the café, stealthily surveying its customers. There weren’t that many, but it wasn’t until after she had bought herself an alibi coffee and rounded the corner to where a row of tables for two was set up that she spotted her.

Joan really had seen her before in that Anatomy lecture. Who wouldn’t have noticed her, tall and mysterious, elegant and broody? Joan certainly wasn’t shy, but now that she was faced with the task ahead, she couldn’t help but feel a tad nervous. Philip had certainly been accurate in his description of Sally.

As casually as possible, Joan pretended to decide on a table before walking over to the one right next to Sally’s. She placed her coffee on it, sat down on the bench next to Sally, and sighed as if she had just come from a three hour lecture.

Sally, who had appeared to be deeply engrossed in something or other on her phone, looked up suddenly, torn out of her thoughts by Joan’s arrival. Her sharp blue eyes widened for just a moment when she saw Joan before she assumed an expression somewhere between neutral, bored, and annoyed, and looked down at her phone again.

Joan frowned for a second, but then she shrugged it off and just said, “Hey,” looking at her with a friendly smile.

This time when Sally looked up, her expression had tipped over into annoyed. Great.

“Aren’t we in the same anatomy lecture?” Joan asked, mostly undeterred.

Sally raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “You, me, and 200 other people.”

Joan grinned cheekily. “And yet there’s only one person there I want to get to know better.”

Sally pressed her lips together, forcing herself to look cross, but Joan could see the colour creeping up her pale cheeks. Then, for just a moment, Sally’s eyes seemed to be roaming over Joan, moving rapidly to take in every detail, before she was staring straight at her again.

“You,” Sally began, her deep voice intent. “Are the captain of the rugby team; I’d be able to see it in your musculature and the way you walk even if I had not seen it in the university newspaper. You read medicine, obvious; you stay behind after the anatomy lecture because you also take the class after that in the same lecture hall, and that class is for students of medicine only. You spent the last hour or so lying on the lawn behind the chemistry building over there, before then it would have been too windy for someone wearing such a thin jacket, but there is still some grass sticking to your trousers, so you definitely lay there. Need I go on?”

Joan shrugged. “Is there more?”

Sally let out a laugh. “There’s always more. Just twenty minutes ago, a young man by the name of Anderson left this café after being turned down. Now you’re here, obviously coming on to me. Coincidence? I think not.”

Joan narrowed her eyes. “Is that an accusation?”

“Oh, spare me that. Why else would you talk to me, if not to prove you’re better at getting _dates_ than he is?” Sally spit out the word as if it left a sour taste in her mouth, then turned toward her own table again. “I don’t get asked out. Period.”

Joan gave her a look. “Anderson does count, you know.”

Sally turned toward Joan again, face uncomprehending. “Anderson asked Sally out. What does that have to do with me?”

Joan just looked at her for a long moment. “So you’re not Sally,” she finally stated.

Not-Sally blinked. “No.”

“But you… Who are you then?”

“I’m Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes,” Not-Sally said, and Joan’s eyes widened.

“You’re Sherlock? The one who works with the police and goes around offending everyone?” Joan laughed. “I can’t believe it. We go to the same lecture this whole semester and this is how I meet you.”

Sherlock’s mouth tightened. “It’s not like it’s my fault you thought I was Sally.”

“Oh, no!” Joan held up her hands. “I’m glad about it! You’ve got to be the most interesting person on campus.”

“Interesting doesn’t equal nice,” Sherlock pointed out, voice terse.

Joan’s lips quirked. “Certainly nice to look at though.”

Sherlock blushed and folded her arms over her chest. “There was a misunderstanding and we cleared it up. No need to keep flirting with me.”

“But I want to. Unless it bothers you?” Joan was half-turned toward Sherlock, one arm on the backrest of the bench, her head leaning against her hand.

Sherlock sighed, sounding put-upon. “I’ll survive.”

“Good. Because I’d hate to stop before I got the chance to ask you out.”

There was a beat of silence. “I don’t date,” Sherlock said, voice not exactly quiet, but lacking the surety it had held when she had deduced Joan.

Joan’s gaze slid down to where Sherlock was grasping her phone with both hands. “Have you ever tried it?”

“I don’t see the point in it,” Sherlock said, eyes flicking up to Joan’s and away again.

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” Joan inched closer to Sherlock, pressing her knee against Sherlock’s thigh. “We could go to the cinema. Watch a movie and whisper to each other in the dark.”

Sherlock looked down to where their legs were touching, and for a moment Joan thought she’d convinced her. Sherlock’s hand slid up to Joan’s knee, her fingers flitting over it with feathery touches – then she shoved Joan’s leg away forcefully.

“You must think I’m really stupid,” Sherlock hissed as she got up and put her mug away. Joan jumped up and followed her to the door.

“Wait!”

By some miracle, Sherlock actually stopped in the doorway.

Joan scrambled to pull a pen and a piece of paper out of her bag. She scribbled down her number, the paper pressed against the wall, and handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock just looked at it, perplexed.

Joan smiled. “Call me sometime, yeah? Even just to hang out. Doesn’t have to be a date.”

For a moment Sherlock stared at her, face impassive, before turning and quickly walking away.


	2. Chapter 2

For once, Joan didn’t feel like flirting with anyone. The peculiar incident with Sherlock had quite turned her off the idea for the last two weeks. She’d been to two parties and one pub already, but to no avail. Her half-hearted attempts at chatting people up had, just as unusually, led to nothing.

It didn’t help that Philip was still obsessed with Sally and would not stop talking about her. As far as Joan could tell, Sally was a perfectly nice girl, but Joan could not have cared less for hearing about her new boyfriend, a guy called Jeff.

Greg didn’t look particularly interested either, and he’d rolled his eyes a few times that afternoon already to communicate that sentiment to Joan. Alas, so far Philip’s continuous stream of words had yet to be stopped. Greg cleared his throat and tried again.

“I think Joan still hasn’t met Sally,” he pointed out. “This story might be more interesting to her if she knew who you’re talking about.”

“Oh. Well.” Philip blinked. “How about we go look for her? You’re finished eating, aren’t you?”

Joan gave Greg an exaggerated eye roll, but sighed and said, “Sure we are. Go ahead and lead the way.”

As they left the cafeteria in the direction of a seminar room Philip was sure he knew the right number of, Greg said, “I still can’t believe you chatted up Sherlock Holmes.”

Joan tsked. “Let it go, it’s been two weeks.”

Greg laughed. “I’ll let it go when you’ve let it go. But seriously, it must have been scary though, flirting with her.”

Joan’s face darkened. “Why would it have been scary? Didn’t you say you’ve never talked to her? What do you know?”

Greg held up his hands in defence. “Whoa there, chill. I had no idea being turned down once would bother you so much.”

“Oh, shut up…” Joan mumbled, and that was that. She had no desire to keep talking about Sherlock. If it had been up to her, she would have stopped thinking about Sherlock as well. As it was, she was glad Greg had taken the hint and stopped talking.

Which meant Philip was free to start again, and the endless litany about Sally Donovan kept going on.

Joan let her attention wander, trusting Greg to keep up a stream of semi-interested ohs and ahs. As they passed another hallway, she suddenly heard raised voices coming from that direction. She turned to look and sure enough, at the end of the other hallway there was a group of five or six men circled around a tall, black-haired girl. Sherlock.

“I’ll be right back,” Joan said to her friends distractedly, not even making sure they’d heard her before she was pushing through the door to the other corridor, walking swiftly towards Sherlock.

The group had closed in on Sherlock, and although it was apparent that Sherlock had provoked them somehow, now it was their turn, and they weren’t being too gentle.

“It’s time you learned to keep your mouth shut,” one of them was saying, the others nodding along.

“Fucking arsehole,” another one muttered.

“I’ll show you what talking shit about us will get you,” the first one added.

Joan rolled her eyes and, having arrived at the end of the hallway, pushed through the wall of people to join Sherlock.

“Sherlock!” she said cheerily and put an arm around a perplexed Sherlock’s shoulders. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Sherlock replied a bit sharply, looking at Joan, her face a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

“That’s good, because I’d hate it if these guys were bothering you.”

“She started it!” one of the bullies exclaimed.

“All I did was observe and state the facts. You’re the ones who were planning to resort to physical violence. Granted, in a discussion with me you wouldn’t stand a chance-“

“Anyway,” Joan interrupted her. “See, if you beat up Sherlock, my rugby friends and I will beat you up, so rethink your choices.” And with that, she steered Sherlock down the corridor, leaving the confused group behind, who were starting to discuss the matter among themselves.

As soon as Joan and Sherlock had rounded the corner and reached the stairs, Joan dropped her arm from Sherlock’s shoulders and they both sprinted up the stairs to the very top, where they stopped behind a wall that would hide them at least for a moment should anyone decide to come after them.

They stood there for a moment, catching their breath.

“That was entirely unnecessary,” Sherlock said after a minute.

Joan’s mouth quirked. “You’re welcome.”

Sherlock looked at her darkly. “And it was stupid too.”

“It was fun though,” Joan said, leaning against the wall with one shoulder, facing Sherlock. “And neither of us got beat up.”

“Yet,” Sherlock added archly, giving Joan a sidelong glance. “I hope for your sake that your rugby friends really will come to our aid when it happens.”

“Of course they will. You’ve made a habit of offending people, you need protection.” Joan shrugged and ruffled her chin-length hair with one hand. “I’ll fight them myself if I have to.”

Sherlock tsked. “I’m perfectly capable of having a simple fist fight myself, thank you.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Joan regarded Sherlock, who still hadn’t quite turned toward her, and sighed. “Listen. I wanted to help you. I’m not sure I actually did, but you can always come to me for help, even if you technically don’t need it.” She turned to go, intending to walk down the hallway and use a different set of stairs to go downstairs again.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said suddenly, like it took effort to say it. “That’s… nice.”

Joan smiled and, before walking away, looked back and winked at Sherlock.

 

***

 

“I’m home,” Joan called out half-heartedly, busy taking off her shoes and jacket. She chucked her bag into her room before walking into the kitchen where her dad was sitting at the table fiddling with his phone.

“Hey kid, how was your day?” he said, looking up for a second to smile at Joan.

“Normal. Boring.” She pulled out a bowl and filled it with cornflakes and milk.

Her dad typed for a moment longer, then put down his phone and pulled a twenty pound note out of his pocket. “Listen, I’ve got a business dinner tonight and I won’t be here, so why don’t you order a pizza or something? You could invite a friend.”

Joan smiled, but couldn’t prevent her eyebrows from twitching. “That’s nice, thank you. I might do that.”

Satisfied that he’d made an effort, he went back to playing with his phone, and Joan took her bowl and went to her room, which was technically her father’s office.

It wasn’t that she was ungrateful for either the money or the fact that he was letting her live with him so she’d be able to afford studying in London, but living in a small apartment with a man she wasn’t particularly close to and who wasn’t all that interested in her life wasn’t conducive to her happiness.

It was about an hour later that her dad stuck his head through the door and said, “Bye!” before hurriedly leaving the apartment, late as usual. Joan didn’t pay him any mind. She was watching TV on her father’s computer; it was Thursday after all, and as she didn’t have any classes on Fridays, it was the start of the weekend for her.

On the one hand, she was glad it was the weekend. She hadn’t been feeling terribly enthusiastic about classes lately, and the one class that she did look forward to made her feel vaguely nauseous at the same time.

On the other hand, weekends had become boring and lonely. Even though there would be a party next weekend which the mysterious Sally was supposedly going to attend, Joan wasn’t looking forward to that a whole lot either.

Her phone buzzing pulled her out of her melancholic reverie. She hoped it was a message from Greg telling her the party was happening tomorrow instead of Saturday so that she could at least try to distract herself from a certain someone her mind kept wandering off to and who didn’t seem to want anything to do with her.

Once she had unlocked the screen, she saw that Greg had indeed texted her.

_Mike and I are going to the cinema. We’re watching Spectre. Starts at 7. Wanna come?_

Joan almost sighed aloud in relief.

_I’ll meet you there,_ she wrote back quickly. That was much better than staying in and feeling terrible.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Where’s Philip anyway?” Joan asked.

“Working,” Greg said, shoving his hands into his pocket.

For all that it was an unreasonably warm November, Joan wished it was slightly warmer still. It was almost but not quite cold enough to dig out her winter coat, and so far she’d refused to do so.

“Ah, there’s Mike.” Greg started moving into the direction of the building’s entry. Joan followed him while trying to spot Mike, eyes so focused on the task that she almost missed the tall, dark figure walking right past her. Her gaze flittered to the side just quickly enough that she caught Sherlock observing her, analyzing her in those short few seconds.

Joan stumbled a bit, turning her head to stare after Sherlock. “Whoa there,” Greg said, steadying her and temporarily drawing her attention to him. When Joan looked back, Sherlock had already disappeared.

It wasn’t until they’d already purchased the tickets and bought snacks that Joan’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She fumbled it out with one hand, the other holding her drink.

_Meet me outside if you want to help me with a case. SH_

Joan blinked, but before she could do any more than that, a second message arrived.

_Your assistance is required. SH_

Absently, Joan pressed her cup into Mike’s hands and mumbled something about having to go. As she pushed her way through the throng of people in the foyer, she typed back:

_Do I need to call the rest of the rugby team?_

The answer came just as Joan exited the cinema.

_God, no. SH_

Joan bit her lip and grinned as she looked up from her phone. And there Sherlock was standing, wearing her black coat with its collar flipped up, gaze intense as always as their eyes locked. And was there a hint of surprise there?

“I was just about to watch a movie,” Joan said, lifting an eyebrow, her lips quirking.

“And yet you came,” Sherlock pointed out, already walking away, clearly expecting Joan to follow.

“I promised I would, didn’t I?”

Sherlock tilted her head in acknowledgement. “You said something along those lines.”

Just as Joan was about to ask where they were going, Sherlock stopped and turned toward her.

“We’re going to be watching a drug dealer and his supplier and we’ll try to get a good photo of the deal.”

“Okay…” Joan said doubtfully. “Why don’t the police do that? Why did they ask you?”

Sherlock looked away for a second. “They didn’t. This is… It doesn’t have anything to do with the police. It’s a private client.”

Joan’s eyebrows rose.

Sherlock rolled her eyes. “It’s only marijuana, calm down.”

Joan chewed on her lower lip, her arms crossed over her chest as she regarded Sherlock, who seemed slightly irritated and impatient, but who was rocking back and forth on her heels ever so slightly and whose fingers were fumbling with her coat pockets. Sherlock, who was clearly nervous about having asked Joan to come in the first place.

Joan sighed. “Alright, fine. But you have to explain what the whole point of this is, because right now I have no idea what we’re about to do.”

Sherlock huffed out a breath. “There isn’t much to it. Bit of a boring case, if you can even call it that. Come on, we need to get in position now if we don’t want to get caught.”

Joan followed her into an alley that seemed seedier than it had any right to for being located at the centre of tourist London. There were a couple of bins at the end of it, next to an iron door that probably belonged to a restaurant or something. Additionally, there was a shopping cart there that was overflowing with cardboard. Naturally, Sherlock led them there and they crouched down behind the bins, Joan closer to the wall so Sherlock would be able to take the photo with the help of the additional shielding the shopping cart provided.

They shuffled around trying to achieve a comfortable position while at the same time retaining the ability to get up quickly should the situation call for it. They ended up huddled close to each other, Joan’s knee resting against Sherlock’s hip, and Joan had to wonder about the point of her being there. Sherlock would easily have managed this by herself, and Joan didn’t doubt that she typically would have done this alone either. This way, the hiding place that would easily have been big enough for one person was almost too small for the two of them.

“They should be here any minute,” Sherlock whispered after a while.

Joan’s foot had already fallen asleep and she shook it a bit to wake it up. “About time,” she breathed.

And indeed, a minute or two later, a young man in a ratty pullover and jeans entered the alley. Joan watched through the small gap between the bins and almost held her breath, working to keep it slow and even instead.

Sherlock had tensed up and was watching the man closely. Joan breathed in and out as quietly as she could. Sherlock was close, turned away but almost pressed against her, and the warmth she radiated didn’t serve to calm Joan’s heartbeat.

The man walked into the alley until he was so close that Joan could only see the tips of his shoes, the rest of him obscured by the bins. The pleasant, subtle smell of honey and tea that Joan had come to recognise as Sherlock’s disappeared beneath the strong odour of sweat and weed coming from the dealer.

A few moments later, a second man entered the alley. Joan almost didn’t dare to peer at him through the gap between the bins. When she did, though, she saw a man who might as well have been an accountant for how boring he looked. White button-down shirt with thin blue stripes, ill-fitting suit trousers… Nevertheless the mood in the alley changed, the first man no longer seeming impatient but tense, and for a moment it was so quiet Joan didn’t dare move so much as a finger. She glanced over at Sherlock, who was as still as a statue, her phone at the ready. She looked intensely focused, her gaze on the phone’s screen.

“My customers haven’t been happy with the quality you’ve been delivering lately,” the first man said, betraying his nerves only through his slightly shaky voice.

The other man laughed softly, the sound making Joan shiver. “Are you trying to tell me you’re having trouble selling weed to college students?” He took a few steps towards the first man.

“N-no, not at all. You know I sold all of it. It’s just that they said the last few times the quality wasn’t as…” He trailed off as accountant man advanced further, making him take a step back. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” he said, aiming for a joking tone, but it wasn’t working. He swallowed audibly, and Joan’s heart lurched in her chest when she realised he was only inches away from knocking into the shopping cart, and the shopping cart was so close to Sherlock’s hand and—before she could even finish the thought, the metal of the cart moved and knocked the phone from Sherlock’s hands. There was the clatter of it hitting the ground, followed by a moment of utter silence.

Sherlock was the first to move, grabbing for her phone. Not a second later, the first man pushed the cart aside, ready to wrench the phone from her hands even before the other man hissed, “Get the phone!”, clearly struggling not to shout.

There was no time to think things through, so Joan reacted on impulse alone, quickly standing up and pushing against the outer bin as hard as she could. It was a big bin, and heavy, and for a fraction of a second she didn’t think she’d manage to overturn it, but then it lifted and with this little bit of momentum she had achieved she only needed to push a bit more and then the bin was falling, right against the man, who howled in pain and stumbled until he crashed into the wall. Joan didn’t let him distract her, instead grabbing Sherlock by the hand and jumping over the fallen bin, running towards the end of the alley. The other man turned to follow them, but just as swiftly Sherlock had delivered a kick to his knee, and he fell over.

The two girls sprinted to the end of the alley and turned left as one, running further down the street, through a small park and into a Prêt à Manger located at the other side of it, all without exchanging any words. It was fairly empty and so they stumbled to a booth in the back corner, collapsing onto the bench and heaving in breaths, their shoulders pressed together.

Once they were breathing normally again, Joan let her head fall back against the backrest and grinned brightly. “I still don’t quite understand why we did that,” she said, her voice happy and delighted, “but I have to admit it was fun.”

Sherlock looked over at her and there was a smile tugging at the corners of her rosy lips. “You reacted adequately in the face of danger,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. “Unsurprisingly, of course.”

Joan giggled and turned towards Sherlock. “I’m not sure whether I should be pleased at the compliment or exasperated at how difficult it is to surprise and impress you.”

“Oh, I’m impressed,” Sherlock said almost absently, her gaze slipping down to Joan’s smiling lips. Joan felt herself mirroring her.

A moment later Sherlock cleared her throat. “Since we’re here anyway, I might as well get a cup of tea. Do you want anything?” She shuffled away from Joan on the bench and got up, movements hasty and on-edge.

“A cup of tea would be nice,” Joan said, hands gripping the edge of the seat. She closed her eyes when Sherlock went off to get their beverages and took a deep breath, reminding herself firmly that Sherlock had said no _. I don’t date._

It did seem like she was getting a shot at being Sherlock’s friend though.

 


	4. Chapter 4

On Monday, Joan couldn’t spot Sherlock in the lecture hall, which wasn’t terribly unusual. Still, Joan had felt confident today that Sherlock wouldn’t mind sitting next to her. As a result, she slumped down in a random seat near the front, trying not to feel overly disappointed.

The professor was already fighting his weekly battle with technology when someone sat down next to Joan. She looked up from where she’d been playing Tetris on her phone to see a pretty girl smiling at her.

Joan very much did not feel like flirting with her, but a friendly conversation was more than welcome. Luckily, as it turned out, that was exactly what the other girl had in mind.

“I’m Sally,” she introduced herself, and Joan felt like, without having done anything, she had just solved a riddle she’d been working on for months. _This_ was Sally. The famous Sally Philip would not stop talking about.

Joan’s realisation must have shown on her face, because Sally said, laughing, “You’re Joan, aren’t you? The girl who’s always hanging out with Philip? He’s probably mentioned me.”

This made Joan chuckle in return. “Once or twice,” she replied, voice a little choked up from holding in more laughter. “Don’t worry about me hanging out with him, though. He’s all yours.”

“Yeah, he made sure I was clear on that. You’re a lesbian, aren’t you?” Sally’s smile never faltered, but suddenly Joan got the feeling she was fishing for gossip rather than looking for conversation.

She wiggled her eyebrows and smiled. “Are you interested or why are you asking?”

Sally laughed good-naturedly and Joan revised her opinion of her. She may have been fishing for gossip, but she actually seemed fairly nice. “You’re safe from me, don’t worry. But I actually meant to ask you about Sherlock.”

This caught Joan’s interest much more effectively than the rest of the conversation had done. “What about her?”

Sally shrugged and pulled her notebook out of her bag casually, putting it on her table in preparation for the lecture. “She’s strange, is all. Really strange.”

Joan frowned. “She can be a bit rude, sure...”

“That’s not what I’m talking about though. You know she sometimes works with the police and they let her enter crime scenes for some reason? Well, that’s not all.” Sally leaned closer, serious and conspiratorial. “She likes to perform experiments on corpses. Steals body parts from the morgue. At least I hope that’s where she gets them.”

This information wasn’t as surprising to Joan as it should have been, she thought, but she knew it should have been disconcerting. She made sure to look particularly unimpressed by the news as she asked, “So what’s your point?”

Sally looked at her incredulously. “My point is that none of these are good signs. An abnormal interest in crime, particularly murder? No friends, not even an interest in making friends? Performs experiments on body parts? She’s dangerous, Joan. Please be careful.”

Joan stared at her for a long moment. This was ridiculous. Sally was being incredibly rude, and she was consciously trying to undermine Sherlock’s and Joan’s friendship.

The professor finally began talking and Joan turned away. She didn’t speak another word with Sally for the rest of the lecture.

 

*~*~*

 

While the encounter with Sally had been fairly unpleasant, it did make Joan feel curious enough to get over her uncharacteristic shyness and go looking for Sherlock down in the labs. There had to be a reason she hadn’t been at the lecture, and Joan could very well imagine that some mystery experiment had demanded her attention.

She wasn’t overly familiar with this part of the building, having only had classes in two rooms located directly at its entrance, and once she got down into the basement where the labs Sherlock would likely be working in were located, she found herself in a labyrinth of corridors that all looked the same but were arranged in no discernible pattern.

There was little chance of her finding Sherlock, if she was even here at all. The whole thing had been a moronic idea anyway. What did she intend to do if she found her? Ask her why she liked experimenting on corpses so much? That wouldn’t go over well.

She was wandering the halls aimlessly, pretty much lost at this point, wondering if she’d make it to her next class which would start in an hour, when she heard voices coming from around the corner of the corridor. One of them was definitely Sherlock’s. She tensed and stopped in her tracks for a moment, but this far away, the words were indiscernible, so she walked closer as quietly as she could.

Eavesdropping. Hadn’t she come here to see Sherlock? No matter, just stepping in on a private conversation was embarrassing and rude, and Joan was just too curious to resist listening in.

The other girl was talking when Joan got close enough to understand what was being said. She seemed to be... reprimanding Sherlock? Chiding her? “I know you like to talk about other people’s problems more than you like to talk about yours, but whether you agree or not, I’m your friend, and if you’re taking something I want to know and I want to help you stop.”

“Taking something?” Sherlock’s surprise was palpable. “No. No, I’m fine, Molly, really.”

There was a moment’s silence. “You’ve been weird lately, especially today. Staring into space while working on an experiment. That’s just not like you.”

“I was thinking about something. A case.”

“A case.” Molly sounded disbelieving. Understandably so, thought Joan, given the way Sherlock had paused before saying it. “Sherlock, if someone’s been bullying you again, just tell me.”

Sherlock made a soft sound. “Quite the opposite, actually,” she said, like her own answer surprised her.

Molly let out a huff. “That’s a relief.” Joan quietly agreed, but her relief vanished a moment later when Molly added, “Any chance that you’ll tell me who it is?” That’s when Joan knew she’d have to beat a hasty retreat because Sherlock was sure to flee the scene as soon as possible.

Indeed, as she hurried quietly down the corridor again, she heard Sherlock say loudly, betraying how uncomfortable she was with the subject, “Who is what? Just because no one’s bullying me doesn’t mean there’s someone—You know what, Molly? I really have to get going now...”

Joan didn’t hear the rest as she turned left and hurried down yet another corridor. Shit. She’d forgotten she didn’t actually know the way out of here. She turned another corner to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally run into Sherlock, then spotted a set of stairs leading up, which had to be right because this was the basement. She sprinted up the steps, adrenaline-fuelled, but upon arriving on the ground floor found herself no closer to discovering the exit. She jogged quickly down another hall, intending to find the nearest floor plan, when she smacked into someone painfully hard, tumbling down to the ground with them.

With Sherlock. She’d run into Sherlock. Jesus Christ, she was an idiot.

They’d landed next to each other, and they both groaned a bit as they sat up.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Joan said, kneeling down close to Sherlock and brushing at her back uselessly.

“Neither was I, it seems,” Sherlock said, frowning and looking over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Joan pulled her hand back. “Um. Brushing off dirt. Don’t know why I thought it was a good idea.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Sherlock said quickly, standing up nevertheless.

Joan got to her feet hastily so as not to be left staring up at Sherlock even more than usual, but groaned softly at the ache in her back and butt, and she stretched, pressing her hands to her lower back.

When she looked up, Sherlock was staring at Joan, but for a moment she didn’t seem to be aware of what she was doing.

Joan’s breath caught in her throat and she coughed softly to end this strange moment that seemed to be pulling at her heart, determined to make her misinterpret Sherlock’s gaze.

“Do you know the way out of here?” she asked, voice only slightly strained. Sherlock came back to herself then, blinking and looking away quickly. “I haven’t really been to this building before,” she explained.

Sherlock still seemed flustered, but she lifted one eyebrow and replied, “It’s not particularly difficult. If you just turn left at the end of this corridor, you...” She trailed off, really looking at Joan for the first time that day. She frowned softly, like she didn’t know quite what to make of what she found. “Or... I could just show you. That’s better, isn’t it? Make sure you don’t get lost again. What were you doing here anyway?”

Joan opened her mouth to reply, but she was unsure what to say. A professor sent me to drop something off? I was crossing through to another building and had to go to the loo?

She exhaled, dropping her shoulders. “I was looking for you,” she replied truthfully.

Sherlock’s eyes rapidly scanned Joan’s face. “Why?”

“I just wanted to say hi,” she said. True enough.

“There’s something else. A different reason.” Sherlock was frowning now, and she’d taken half a step back.

Joan’s eyes widened and she held up her hands, quickly saying, “No, I—it’s just that I was talking to Sally and she said you like to experiment on corpses so I thought maybe you’d be down here since you weren’t at the lecture just now.”

Sherlock froze. “Listen, Joan, I barely ever get access to complete bodies, it’s mostly just body parts.” She was saying it like that was somehow less unusual. “I get feet sometimes, or tongues, but today I only worked on a single kidney, which isn’t that bad, is it?”

Joan’s lips twitched. “Sherlock, calm down! It’s an unusual hobby, yes, but I’m perfectly fine with it.” She grinned. “Though I have to admit I’d like to get out of this stupid building sometime soon. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No, and I don’t intend to, but I can show you to the dining hall. You can get something to go so we can go back here and I can show you what I’ve been working on,” Sherlock suggested, sounding elated now. “Of course you can also find your friends and have lunch with them instead,” she amended, but her eye roll hinted at what she thought of Joan’s friends.

Joan snorted. “Yeah, no. I’d love to see your experiment. Philip’s been unbearable ever since he met Sally, and Greg can manage just fine for himself this once. We’re not exactly joined at the hip.”

This time, when their gazes caught and they smiled at each other, Joan almost thought she wasn’t the only one whose heart gave a little lurch.

 

*~*~*

 

Sherlock became rather enthusiastic when talking about her experiments after that, to the point where Joan, eating tabbouleh at a lab desk (completely ignoring the rule forbidding just that), didn’t only have to deal with a maltreated kidney lying right next to her, but also with being shown pictures of detached feet and fingers, bloody navels, and eyes without a face.

She took it in good humour though, because Sherlock seemed so much more relaxed than she had been when Joan had overheard her conversation with Molly, and really, Sherlock deserved to relax and talk about her interests without having to hold back every once in a while.

Plus, the experiments actually did sound interesting, if not particularly appetising.

“You know, I’ve heard so much about you, and I wouldn’t say people have been lying about you exactly, but I don’t think they understand how interesting you are,” Joan mused, eyes having slid away from the phone where body parts were still being presented to her and to Sherlock herself, and so she saw her expression change abruptly from being focused on a subject that was fascinating to her to being caught off guard by the person next to her. A blush was staining her cheeks now, and she blinked rapidly a few times, eyes flickering to Joan and back to her phone.

When she replied, though, her voice didn’t betray what her face already had. “You’ve got quite the reputation, too. You, ah, appear to have been around a bit, to put it mildly.”

Joan snorted. “That makes it sound extreme rather than mild.”

Sherlock turned towards Joan a bit more, putting her phone down. “It’s true though?”

She shrugged. “I’ve had a few flings here and there. Mostly I just snog with people at parties.”

“That sounds like you’ve been around quite a bit, at least to someone without any experience at all,” Sherlock said, regarding her with an impassive face now.

Joan’s brain had got caught on the latter part of the statement though. “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Someone has to balance out the statistics. Old people get frightened by sex fiends like you.”

Joan couldn’t help but giggle at that. Sherlock’s lips quirked as well, which was a relief.

“But have you ever wanted to kiss anyone?”

There was a pause. “Rarely,” Sherlock finally said. She bit her lip. “Once or twice.”

“But you didn’t act on it?” Joan asked, regarding Sherlock pensively.

Sherlock rolled her eyes. “I don’t think there are too many people who’d want to kiss me. Ergo, I haven’t invested enough energy in being able to tell when someone might want to.”

Joan smiled, amused. “That’s the difficult part for more people than you think. It can be quite hard to tell, so the best way to go about it is to ask.”

Sherlock raised her eyebrows. “Just ask? That’s rather direct, isn’t it?”

Joan inclined her head in agreement. “I’m talking about once you feel like there’s a chance they might want to kiss you. You can literally just say ‘Can I kiss you?’ Or ‘May I kiss you?’, if you like that better,” she added with a wink.

Sherlock didn’t seem convinced. “And then what? Assuming they say yes, what do I do next?”

Joan grinned. “Why, you kiss them, of course. Don’t stick your tongue in deep enough to touch their tonsils and so on, but that’s obvious. The rest, you’ll learn as you go along.” Seeing the understandable insecurity on Sherlock’s face, she went on, “If you’re worried about how to initiate the kiss, just go with your instincts.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she rolled her chair forward, as close to Sherlock’s as possible, and leaned in, putting one hand on the nape of Sherlock’s neck and the other on her cheek, stroking the soft skin gently with her thumb.

“Like this, maybe,” she said softly. Her gaze was drawn to Sherlock’s lips, and when she managed to look up again, Sherlock’s eyes had become glazed and her breathing soft and shallow, as if she daren’t move.

Joan swallowed. God, why was her heart racing like this? “And then, it’s just a matter of leaning in a few inches...” In time with her words, she felt herself moving closer to Sherlock until their lips were almost touching-

Then Sherlock’s phone vibrated on the desk, the noise feeling absurdly loud, and Joan jerked back, realising what she had been about to do.

Sherlock lifted her phone with clumsy fingers, not looking anywhere near Joan.

“That’s one way to go about it, anyway,” Joan said, turning away and ruffling a hand through her hair, hoping she hadn’t totally messed up.

“That’ll be very helpful to me I’m sure, should the situation ever arise,” Sherlock said, voice rough and shoulders tense, staring down at her phone without ever even touching the screen.

Joan chewed on her lip and shifted around on her chair nervously. “I should get going,” she said eventually, the mood in the room still tense. “My next class is about to start.”

She looked at Sherlock for a moment, but only got “Mhm” as a reply, so she shouldered her bag and trudged out of the room, feeling a good deal more miserable than when she’d entered.

 


	5. Chapter 5

She didn’t see Sherlock again in the following days. During that time, she couldn’t help but feel a constant thrum of worry that she’d overstepped Sherlock’s boundaries. She had been way too forward, hadn’t she? She couldn’t tell, and this kind of uncertainty just wasn’t for her. She wanted to be friends with Sherlock at least. Why did everything have to be so difficult?

Finally, almost without Joan realising, Saturday arrived, and with it, Mike’s party. Had it really only been a week ago that she’d snuck into an alley with Sherlock to spy on drug dealers?

Joan managed to drag herself to the party, thanks in no small part to Greg, who had encouraged her not to get drawn into that vicious circle of feeling miserable and lying in bed all day and as a result feeling even more miserable.

It was a good party. The music was loud but conversation was still possible, the crowd was fairly mixed but largely likeable. Joan was on her second beer, determined to at least attempt to have fun.

Well. Maybe determined was too strong a word. Or, at least, tonight fun excluded drunk snogging.

Joan had found a seat on a sofa early on and now the space next to her was occupied, but that didn’t keep Mary away, who thought it a good idea to settle on the armrest next to Joan and put an arm around her shoulders.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” she said, a bright smile on her face. “What have you been up to? Certainly not as much as usual, hmm?”

Joan laughed politely, looking up at her. “I guess you could say that.”

“You can always come to me when something’s bothering you,” Mary said, and while they weren’t particularly close friends, Joan knew what she meant. They’d made out a bit a few months ago, and had had a few pleasant conversations since then.

Except, with the way Mary was looking at her, she didn’t seem to be looking for a conversation right now.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” Joan said, and made to get up, but Mary held her in place.

“I’ll go, just a second.” And she was off, reappearing from the bathroom, where the drinks were stored, just half a minute later. As luck would have it, in that short span of time the person sitting next to Joan had got up and left. Mary took her chance and settled in closely next to Joan.

“There you go,” she said, handing Joan a bottle of beer and turning towards her, clasping a bottle of her own in one hand and putting the other arm back around Joan’s shoulder, her hand settling on the nape of her neck and stroking through the short hair.

Joan sighed and shook her head a bit. “I’m sorry, I’m really not in the mood,” she said apologetically.

Mary frowned. “You’re not sick, are you?” she asked, putting her hand on Joan’s forehead to check her temperature.

Joan chuckled. “That’s not it at all. Sorry, I just...” She didn’t even know how to explain it without giving away what was worrying her.

It turned out she didn’t have to. “Joan Watson, could it be that you’re in love? With someone who isn’t me no less?”

Joan sank further down on the couch, fussing with the label of her bottle. “Don’t be absurd...”

“Christ, you are!” Mary exclaimed. “Now stop sounding like a bitter old lady and tell me about her! Who is it anyway?”

Joan bit her lip, not looking at her. “You won’t know her,” she said, although everyone on campus had at least heard of Sherlock, and maybe she would have got away with that lie, had the door not opened in that very moment. Joan’s gaze was automatically drawn to the person entering, her attention fixed on her with a pull that was almost magnetic.

Sherlock’s gaze met hers, and Joan could only guess what kind of picture she made, sitting on the sofa with Mary almost pressed to her side. Joan opened her mouth to say something, not that Sherlock would have heard her all the way across the room, but before she could think of a single word to say, Sherlock had already turned away and walked into an adjoining room. Joan’s gaze remained fixed on the doorway Sherlock had disappeared through until there was a cough next to her.

“I see,” Mary said, lips quirking in amusement despite the slight tightness around her eyes. “Well, what can I say? I wish you luck. It doesn’t get much more difficult than wooing Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m not ‘wooing’ her,” Joan grumbled, putting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “Nothing’s going to come of it anyway. She doesn’t do that sort of thing.”

“What, she’s a devoted virgin? I’d never have guessed.”

“Oh, shut up,” Joan said, giving her a shove. “She’s just not interested. That’s all.”

“She seemed very interested judging from the way she looked at you just now, but whatever you say...”

There was movement in the corner of the room, and Joan saw Sherlock emerge with Sebastian Wilkes and one of his friends. They made a strange picture, but Joan saw Sebastian pocket a USB drive, and that explained how this little group had formed as well as why Sherlock was attending this party at all. She’d handed over the pictures of the drug dealers.

Joan rolled her eyes. Trust Sherlock to take a case from an arsehole like Sebastian Wilkes.

Mary had spotted them too, and she stood up with a grin. “Time for spin the bottle!” she said loudly, raising her empty one.

Someone grumbled, “We’re university students, not twelve-year-olds,” but a good number of people joined the circle Mary had dragged Joan along to form.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Joan whispered to her, but Mary just looked at her with an innocent smile.

“No idea what you’re talking about!”

Meanwhile, Sebastian had realised this as the unique opportunity that it was to make someone feel bad and he had thrown an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, pulling her along to the circle. “Bet you’ve never played. Come on, Holmes, don’t be a spoilsport.”

Sherlock’s expression was decidedly sour, but with a glance over at Joan she let herself drop to the floor to sit in the circle with nothing more than a muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

Someone turned down the music a bit more as Sebastian grabbed the bottle. “Let’s start with you, Sherlock. Whoever this bottle lands on you’ve got to kiss,” he said with relish. It was entirely disgusting.

Joan fixed him with a glare. “No one’s going to kiss anyone they don’t want to kiss, Sebastian. That wasn’t funny when we were twelve, and it definitely isn’t funny now.”

Sherlock’s gaze snapped to her, unreadable. “Don’t bother, Joan. I’m not playing anyway,” she said flatly, getting up.

Joan stared at her for a second before quickly nodding and getting up herself. “Neither am I. Come on, Sherlock, let’s leave.”

Sherlock looked at her oddly, but followed her to the door. “I was about to,” she said, and without looking back, they left the flat.

 

*~*~*

 

They walked down the stairs and out the door in silence. It was a crisp and dark winter’s evening, and the campus was all but deserted. They walked slowly in the direction of the tube.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Sherlock said, out of the blue.

For a moment, Joan couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying.

After a few seconds, Sherlock spoke up again to elaborate. “I wouldn’t have wanted to kiss any of the other people in there, but I wouldn’t have minded kissing you.”

Joan glanced at her. “Not minding and actually wanting to kiss someone are two different things.”

Sherlock inclined her head in assent.

“A game you’re bullied into playing with rules set by others shouldn’t be what makes you decide to kiss someone,” Joan said. The words hurt in her throat.

“True,” Sherlock said softly. “And Sebastian is an idiot anyway.”

Joan snorted. “He really is. What a cliché. A rich public school arsehole.”

Sherlock laughed – she genuinely laughed out loud, making her eyes crinkle. Joan felt so fond, like her heart was about to burst apart from so much affection. “Sounds like a description of me.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Joan replied, giggling. “You’re a rich public school genius with a tough shell and a soft heart. Which basically means you’re a superhero.”

Sherlock gave her a playful shove, Joan shoved right back, and suddenly they were both laughing and stumbling along their path, and soon Joan felt so oddly out of breath that she had to lean against the building next to them to calm down.

She’d barely got three deep breaths in before she realised Sherlock was leaning against the wall as well, turned towards her and her gaze serious, not amused anymore but dark-eyed and soft.

“I really do want to kiss you, you know,” she said, just loud enough for Joan to hear.

Joan swallowed, heart stuttering in her chest. She kept her eyes locked with Sherlock’s as she whispered, “I showed you how it works. Go right ahead.”

And Sherlock’s soft fingers slipped smoothly into her hair, the other hand cupping Joan’s cheek, and suddenly it became even more difficult to breathe. Sherlock’s thumb stroked her gently, brushing her eyelashes, and her gaze went from Joan’s eyes to her mouth and back again until Sherlock finally leaned in. Joan saw her eyelids slip closed just before her own followed suit, and a brush of warm air was the last thing she felt before Sherlock’s lips touched hers.

God, but her lips were soft and warm and everything Joan had imagined, and it was all she could do not to pull Sherlock against her and overwhelm her with passion and tongue and—Christ, but her hands were almost trembling where she was grasping the lapels of Sherlock’s coat, trying to hold back, her chest burning with want, and still they were only kissing softly, gently.

The glow of a streetlight filtered in when Joan opened her eyes for a split-second, and she felt the cold, rough wall against her back, and she was blissfully happy except for the fact that she wanted more-

When Sherlock suddenly made a noise, a frustrated sort of growl, and pushed their bodies together, pressing Joan against the wall. She nipped at Joan’s lower lip and that was it, there was no more holding back. Joan’s tongue slid along Sherlock’s lips, Sherlock returned the favour, and soon they were panting, barely taking the time to take more than a shallow breath so they wouldn’t have to stop.

Sherlock’s right hand found its way down to Joan’s waist and in its search for purchase, for something to hold on to, eventually wandered to her breasts, causing Joan to moan in surprise and pleasure.

Finally, Joan just couldn’t keep up anymore, concentrating instead on staying upright despite her shaking knees. Sherlock slowed down in accordance, pressing kisses to her cheeks and throat before wrapping her arms around Joan and letting her forehead rest on Joan’s head.

After a moment during which nothing but their breathing could be heard, Sherlock murmured, “We could... if you wanted to... do this again sometime.”

Joan giggled and put her hands on Sherlock’s lean torso, pulling her closer. “Every day, Sherlock. Whenever you want.”

Sherlock was very still for a moment. “Every day sounds wonderful,” she finally said, voice so soft and content and surprised, and Joan felt nothing but happiness, standing there in the cold with her very own genius wrapped around her.


End file.
